


𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨 🁡 𝐴𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑒’𝑠 𝐴𝑑𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑊𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑑

by Adrenalineshots, sonshineandshowers, TheFibreWitch



Series: Domino 🁡 [2]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Case Fic, Child Bright, Digital Art, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hallucinations, Harassment, Health Emergency, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Mental Health Issues, Metafiction, Murder Mystery, Nightmares, Surrealism, Trauma, Unreliable Narrator, Video, a lot of really strange stuff that happens in altered states of consciousness, anxiousness, reader-driven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26502040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adrenalineshots/pseuds/Adrenalineshots, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFibreWitch/pseuds/TheFibreWitch
Summary: Selecting 𝐴𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑒’𝑠 𝐴𝑑𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑊𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑑 from the bookshelf, Malcolm travels through his own mind.Read this story at:https://www.thedominostory.com/#alices-adventures-in-wonderlandThis book is one part of the Domino series. If you have not yet read thePrefaceorIntroduction, please head there first.
Relationships: Jessica Whitly/Martin Whitly
Series: Domino 🁡 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1926451
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1
Collections: Domino 🁡, Prodigal Son Big Bang 2020 - Saturday Posts





	𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨 🁡 𝐴𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑒’𝑠 𝐴𝑑𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑊𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑑

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jameena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jameena/gifts), [MissScorp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissScorp/gifts), [ProcrastinatingSab](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProcrastinatingSab/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Alice's Adventures in Wonderland](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/685240) by Lewis Carroll. 



> This book is one part of the Domino series. If you have not yet read the [Preface](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64577434#workskin) or [Introduction](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64588537#workskin), please head there first.
> 
> Betaed by the wonderful [Jameena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jameena/), [MissScorp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissScorp/), and [ProcrastinatingSab](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProcrastinatingSab/).
> 
> Credit to the creators and their works that inspired and were referenced in this work:  
>  **— Inspiration:**[Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alice%27s_Adventures_in_Wonderland) \- Lewis Carroll  
>  **— Cover Song:**[White Rabbit](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WANNqr-vcx0) \- Jefferson Airplane
> 
> Brief parts of lines in italics attributed to the original work.

[](https://www.thedominostory.com/images/full/alices-adventures-in-wonderland.jpg) |   
---|---  
  
“Malcolm, you must carry yourself like you want to achieve status in life,” his mother says, her hand underneath his chin. Her red dress flows around her like they’re having company for dinner and it’ll sweep all the attention away from any spot in the house that isn’t up to snuff.

“Mom, can I have peanut butter and jelly?” Malcolm asks.

“Luisa’s going to make us dinner, dear,” she says, dismissing his request.

“Is it peanut butter and jelly?” His young eyes look up to his mother, searching for the one thing he’s after.

“No, but I’m sure it’s something you’ll like. One day you’ll have dinner with canapés — you need to eat them without disrespecting the chef.”

If it’s not peanut butter and jelly, he’s not eating it.

“Go do your stretches until it’s ready.” She shoos him away.

“M-om,” he complains, scuffing his foot against the floor.

“Son, do what your mother asks, or we won’t be able to read later,” his father says, looking up from his book. Malcolm doesn’t need to hear that threat twice — he scrambles up the stairs to his room and pulls out his roller to start stretching. His stomach grumbles as he works his muscles.

He wants peanut butter and jelly. Not whatever fancy thing will come out of the kitchen. He trades for peanut butter and jelly with the kids at school, even giving away his lunch money sometimes in exchange for a half.

His parents want him to grow a refined palate.

Whatever that means.

His stomach groans again. Did he eat at lunch that day? He’s _hungry_.

What did he do that day? He doesn’t really remember much apart from visiting his father’s workroom the previous evening. Even that’s… fuzzy.

“ _Malcolm_.” His mother shakes his shoulder. “I’ve been calling you for ten minutes.”

Really?

“Do you feel okay?” she asks, feeling his forehead with the back of her hand.

“Everything’s… confusing,” he tells her, moving his hands in front of him. He can’t quite describe how his brain spins or why such a simple thing as remembering what he had for lunch seems a monumental effort.

“Are you tired? Maybe you need some more sleep, sunshine,” she says, rubbing his back.

“Peanut butter and jelly,” he repeats, his stomach growling along with the statement.

“Can I get you to eat something else? They don’t feed the queen peanut butter and jelly.”

“They might.” Maybe they threw in a few extra Twizzlers along with it.

“Not on my watch.” She ruffles his hair. “Why don’t you get into bed?”

“I need a — “

“Peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I know,” she cuts him off and squeezes his shoulder. “Here you go, until I get back — _divide a loaf by a knife: what’s the answer to that_?”

“M-om.” He rolls his eyes.

“One of these days, you’ll figure it out.” She glances at him one more time and moves for the door. “If you can still give me that look, you’re not that tired.”

He drifts waiting in bed, visions of his chess set coming to life dancing across the bedspread. Tracing the stitching, he feels each of the squares the pieces can glide along. His finger catches on something, and blood trickles down to his palm.

The knife. Why would he have held a knife? Is the knife there, in his bed, now? Why is he thinking of a knife at all? Scrambling out of bed, he slides underneath it, attempting to escape anything that might come after him.

Regular cleanings mean there aren’t any dust bunnies waiting for him, no otherworldly creatures designed to challenge and maim. The taps of footsteps walk into the room, and Malcolm looks out to see his father’s cheshire grin looking back. “What’s got you acting up so much today, son?” he asks.

“Mom’s bringing me peanut butter and jelly,” Malcolm tells him.

“I think you can come down to the table and eat it.”

“I-I don’t feel well. I’m gonna stay here.”

His father’s watch face glints in the room’s light as he reaches under the bed to him. “Come on out, Malcolm,” his father says.

Malcolm doesn’t move. Not understanding why he’s afraid and at the same time not able to grasp much other than he’s hungry, he stays put, shaking.

“Leave him be, dear.” His mother’s footsteps rest next to his father’s. “I’ve got your sandwich.”

“Down here,” Malcolm says.

The plate sets on the floor underneath the edge of the bed frame, and Malcolm reaches a tentative hand toward it. His mother’s face pops down next, laying eye to eye with him. “You don’t want to come out and eat it?” she asks.

He takes a half of the sandwich and bites into it.

“I’ll stay with you while you eat it, then,” she says.

“This is foolishness. No story tonight,” his father growls and walks out of the room.

The sandwich is full of jelly, and each bite dribbles a little out onto his cheek. “Did something happen at school today, Malcolm?” his mother asks.

Malcolm keeps chewing, quickly making work of the sandwich half. He reaches for the second, and his mother has her hand on the plate, not blocking his access, but her actions clear just the same. “I’m hungry,” he complains and swipes the second half of the sandwich, taking a long lick of peanut butter from the edge.

“That’s why I’m worried.”

He can’t tell her what’s wrong because he doesn’t even know. There are holes in his memories he desperately tries to fill with peanut butter and jelly spackle, the walls taking on an iridescent tilt. “I think I’d rather play chess instead of ballet,” he says, offering something. He’s losing the steps — would he lose his ability to checkmate, too?

“We can talk about it when you’re feeling better.”

“I decided.”

“Okay.”

“Will you play with me?” Malcolm asks. “You can be the red pieces?”

“Are you going to come out?”

“No. Not now, anyway.”

“We’ll see if you can beat me one handed.” Shifting to get the chess set from his shelf, it’s a few minutes before she comes back and tips all of the pieces onto the floor to be set up. Finely manicured nails pick up each piece and put it into place. “You’re sure you don’t want to talk about it?” she asks, looking at him while she works.

“Thanks for the sandwich,” he says, the last remnants gone, only his stomach satisfied.

— ◌◯◌ —

“Are these all authors she worked with?” Dani asks, gesturing at photos. The full catalog of Veronica’s books creates a rainbow collage on the whiteboard.

“No. Some of them are — proof copies and first runs — but many of them are just a book collection. She loved reading,” JT says.

“One of the types that actually read the books rather than having them look pretty on the shelf.” She slants a look at him. “Do you think Bright’s read all of the ones at his place?”

JT smirks. “ _Definitely_.“ When Bright let him go through his weapon’s collection, carefully holding and inspecting each piece, he’d gotten an earful of chatter about how he had worked to decolonize his bookshelves over the years after college. Books led them to a conversation about researching through the stacks of the New York Public Library, seeking more information on rare weapons finds, another thing they found they had in common.

JT stands at the side of the whiteboard that has photos of the books CSU collected from beside the victim and Malcolm, then all of the additional A. S. Harper books they had flagged. “CSU noted that the books beside the — “ He pauses and changes his language. “ — beside Bright and the victim had highlights and notes inside them. Some of the ones on the shelves did, too.”

“Edits? That’s slow as hell. Why not type them?”

“Age?”

“Ritual?”

“Tally talks about the feel of paper under her fingers. The smell of the book she can’t get from a tablet.” The reason he finds himself at Strand when he wants to surprise her with a small gift. When she’s done with them, they donate them back to a local charity that gives them to people who are incarcerated. Where Bright’s loft is filled with books, there are few in their apartment. It doesn’t make sense to cart them around from apartment to apartment when someone else can enjoy them.

“I meant more like they’ve been working together a long time. Over fifteen years. Maybe it’s tradition. Like when we go out for beers after a long day.”

“We might not make it through the full day this time.”

“The temptation is real — that’s Gil’s thing, though.”

And they might joke about it, but they’d never do it in the middle of a workday. JT catches Dani sneaking a peek at her phone again. “Still nothing?”

“No.”

They know it’s serious enough that Malcolm was rushed away and put to the top of the queue in the emergency room, but they don’t know anything else. It’s been hours, and Gil’s still silent. “He’d call us, right?” JT says.

“Me at least.”

“Hey — “

“I’m gonna go back to family phone calls,” Dani announces, ducking out of the conference room. “Enjoy your books.”

JT keeps looking at the whiteboard, frustrated that they don’t know what’s going on and that Dani somehow seems to think he isn’t as worried as she is. Their friend is all he can think about, consuming all the space in his mind he doesn’t box out to work on the case. _Maybe they can find something that can help_ , he thinks, and that brings him enough focus to keep working.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Head back to the [Bookshelf](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64588570#workskin) to pick another book. :)


End file.
